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<title>"My name is Brutus, but the people will call me Rex" by TheAwkwardOneOut</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796105">"My name is Brutus, but the people will call me Rex"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardOneOut/pseuds/TheAwkwardOneOut'>TheAwkwardOneOut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt No Comfort, Loosely follows cannon, Minecraft Mechanics, Non-Permanent Character Death, Out of Character, Permanent Character Death, Pre-exile era, Tommy-centric, Underage Drug Use, Various background characters - Freeform, Vomiting, but only the dead/dying can see him, i do what i want sorry, its all gen dont worry we dont ship minors in this household, its teen but there's a lot of blood so be warned, minimal dialogue, no beta we die like men, non-traditional hanahahaki disease, you get three lives and then you die</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:14:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardOneOut/pseuds/TheAwkwardOneOut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His first death was an awful one.</p><p>He remembers the inky blackness that took him under, like vines, digging into his soul. He remembers waking up in his bed and immediately vomiting over the edge. And he remembers, with startling clarity, the small yellow flowers mixed in with his stomach bile on the spruce floor of his barracks. </p><p>Tommy initially brushed it aside. Tubbo probably left some flowers on the ground from breeding his bees. It was nothing.</p><p>The shortness of his breath didn’t feel like nothing, but Tommy had gotten good at lying to himself. It was just from the respawn, nothing else.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bunch of fics I'll keep reading forever!!!, Cheshire's MCYT recs!, Completed fics I read, Completed stories I've read, Cute MCYT, ùwú oh worm? then squirm.</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764062">how wars are like dodgeball</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesandbirds/pseuds/bluesandbirds">bluesandbirds</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven't written fanfiction in about 4-5 years now, so please ignore the glaring issues in my writing. I was inspired by "how wars are like dodgeball" by bluesandbirds. I took that idea of Tommy being no one's first choice and applied Hanahaki to it. This is a Gen-fic; we don't ship minors in this household. All relationships are PLATONIC. </p><p>I'm not up to date with what's going on in the Dream SMP right now, so excuse any glaring issues. That being said I did skew some of the events to fit my story better. For those that don't know, Hanahaki disease is a fan-made trope in which unrequited/unconfessed love causes flowers to grow in people's lungs. Normally, they can be removed, but you risk losing all the memories you had of that person. If they aren't removed, then the person dies. I added Minecraft mechanics to mine, and you can't really heal what Tommy's got, for reasons you will see later on. </p><p>I'd love to hear what you have to say, so please leave a comment. Thanks for reading my comfort fanfiction &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> He remembers the first time it happened.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was cold out in the forest. He and Tubbo and Wilbur were huddled out by a campfire, swapping stories of their travels. Slowly, he and Wilbur worked their way back to SMP Earth and how much fun they had. How much they missed the freedom, the power of founding a nation. Tommy could remember it, the tide of emotion that swelled up inside of him when he looked out over cultivated land, the things he had made. He felt in those moments like he was worth the air he breathed.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur said he missed it too. He spoke of ambitions to found a new nation where they could live together. Freedom to do as they wish, be what they wish, have security from the constant skirmishes. Wilbur’s tone dripped with confidence, of joy, of promises. He looked like a king, a halo of golden light cast on brown curls from the fire.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy was weak. Barely a man, he clung to Wilbur’s words of independence. In the shadow of their campervan, a nation was born. Wrapping, curling, growing. Wilbur breathed its life, and Tommy held its fragile form in the cradle of his mind. From his lips fell a name. Barely a whisper, catching at his throat in the most unusual manner.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> L’manburg. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It sounded like a promise then. If only he had known what he was agreeing to. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> It took him a while to realize what was even happening- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Independence was not a battle easily won it seemed. </p><p> </p><p>Near-constant battles were being fought. He quickly realized that to be successful was to be a quick learner. Tommy had never excelled at fighting with an axe, but it was the way of war against Dream and his allies. In the hours between skirmishes, he and Tubbo practiced under the watchful eye of Wilbur. <em> Charge, rush, block, retreat</em>. The steady clang of iron against wood became his mantra. <em> Charge, rush, block, retreat</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Every hit he took stung like failure. On nights when the moon was too bright and the sound of wind creaking across his walls sent him into a panic, Tommy would get up and expand the ever-growing walls surrounding L’manburg. In his mind, he would repeat his mantra. <em> Charge, rush, block, retreat</em>. </p><p> </p><p>It was a pact written in blood. </p><p> </p><p>His chest ached. Every movement pulled at old bandages. Wounds they didn’t have the resources to change or treat with potions. The darkness was hard to ignore on nights like these. He’d think of Wilbur’s face, etched in disappointment. He’d think of Tubbo, his small frame bloody from a battle that sometimes felt like they were never going to win. He’d think of the promises he made, the future he fought so hard for.</p><p> </p><p>He coughed harshly, something caught in his throat. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy was never a religious man, but he prayed on nights like these. He prayed for peace and success. He prayed for L’manburg, this entity that had grown well beyond a little van in the woods. Had grown beyond even him.</p><p> </p><p>No one was listening. </p>
<hr/><p>His first death was an awful one. </p><p> </p><p>Execution in response to their declaration of independence. He remembers watching his hearts drop, desperately trying to cling to life. He remembers Tubbo’s screams for mercy. He remembers a burning deep in his chest, like something was growing there. </p><p> </p><p>He remembers the inky blackness that took him under, like vines, digging into his soul. He remembers waking up in his bed and immediately vomiting over the edge. And he remembers, with startling clarity, the small yellow flowers mixed in with his stomach bile on the spruce floor of his barracks. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy initially brushed it aside. Tubbo probably left some flowers on the ground from breeding his bees. It was nothing.</p><p> </p><p>The shortness of his breath didn’t feel like nothing, but Tommy had gotten good at lying to himself. It was just from the respawn, nothing else. </p>
<hr/><p>His second death was even worse. Its betrayal cut deeper than any sword could. </p><p> </p><p>It was well known by that point there was a spy amongst their ranks. Too many of their attacks had been precluded by the Empire. Wilbur accused nearly every one of their allies by the end, but it was Tommy who came under fire. His tendency to slip away alone at night was suspicious. His impulsiveness a mark against his name. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s once kind face grew stormy. His dark curls were like a thorny crown. His insults were sharp briars, clinging to Tommy’s skin.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy flinched at the sharp pain in his lungs. He did his best to ignore it. </p><p> </p><p>Eret’s betrayal came out of left field. He was numb, senseless. The only thing he was aware of was how he couldn’t breathe. And when he felt a sword rip through the meat of his shoulder, the most he could do was scream. His voice caught on the lump on his throat, and his vision filled with yellow specks as the darkness took him.</p><p> </p><p>When he woke at spawn, it was all he had to hold in the vomit. Wilbur grabbed him under his arms and pushed him up over the walls. They had a war to fight.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> -it took even longer to realize what it meant. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>What followed was a blur. Tommy remembers <em>charge, rush, block, retreat, </em>and the tang of iron smeared across his coat. He remembers the scorching heat of TNT decimating half of L’manberg. He remembers escaping down to the bunker with Wilbur and Tubbo and Fundy and shivering at the missing space that Eret would have filled. </p><p> </p><p>There was a pain in his chest, sharp and real and unavoidable. He feels Tubbo’s concerned gaze on his back as he hacks into his fist. He didn’t need to look down to know that its full of small yellow flowers. </p><p> </p><p>He shoved his hand in his pocket and blames it on the smoke. No one questions him. His lungs hurt worse.</p><p> </p><p>When Tommy emerges from the bunker, the destruction knocks him to his knees. He feels the phantom presence of the old builds, and for the first time, Wilbur’s hand on his shoulder brings him no comfort.</p><p> </p><p>They rebuild. L’manburg is not a place that can be destroyed, Wilbur says, it lies within its people. Tommy feels something pulse beneath in his sternum and decides to call it L’manburg. </p>
<hr/><p>Tommy duels Dream on the bridge and loses. He feels the failure of it sting at this throat. Wilbur’s face is lined with stress, and he snaps at Tommy for being foolish and impulsive. </p><p> </p><p>Behind his bed, Tommy ripped up a floorboard. Beneath it lays his most precious items. Two music disks, and a tight bundle of dried marigolds and nasturtiums wrapped in a white cloth. He doesn't know what possessed him to keep them, but the thought of throwing them away makes his lungs hurt. So, he buries them away where no one can see them. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy knows what he has to do, for the love of his country. He takes the disks and brokers a deal with Dream. The disks, for L’manburg’s independence. </p><p> </p><p>Dream agrees.</p><p> </p><p>And for a while, he doesn't feel a tickle in his throat. L’manburg rebuilds and grows. Tommy and Wilbur begin a campaign for president, and everything seems to be going well. But nothing ever works the way he wants them to, it seems. And as Schlatt begins to grow in popularity, the tightness in his chest grows with it. </p>
<hr/><p>Something changes when Tommy and Wilbur are forced to run for their lives. He sees it in Wilbur’s eyes and feels it deep in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy is able to convince Techno to help their cause, for a price. </p><p> </p><p>It was a bond forged in blood. </p><p> </p><p>Where Tommy had once found comfort in building an empire, he now despised it. <em> Pogtopia </em>. Every hit of his pickaxe and every swing of his sword took a toll on Tommy’s flagging body. He desperately wanted to sleep, but Techno’s snores sounded too much like the grunts of a dying body. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he foraged. Went out into the dark with only the clothes on his back and an axe in his hand. He had never been able to pick back up a sword after the battle for independence. The instinct to be ready for a fight with Dream was hard to shake, but it served him well here. </p><p> </p><p>He still collected the flowers, now bloody from ripping their way out of his throat. He bound them tight in twine and hid them beneath rocks near his bed. Wilbur never asked where he went, too caught up in his plans of revolution. Techno would give him a piercing look whenever he caught Tommy coughing, but Tommy blamed it on the tobacco.</p><p> </p><p>Smoking. He had taken up the habit sometime after their exile. Some nihilistic part of his brain thought that if it was bad for his lungs, maybe it would kill the flowers too. He couldn’t bring himself to quit after his first pack of cigarettes. </p><p> </p><p>He meets with Tubbo, once. He complained about Schlatt’s treatment as president and said that sentiments were starting to shift against him. Tommy couldn’t bring himself to ask Tubbo to run away with him. They both had a duty to their nation. </p>
<hr/><p>When Tommy found out about Wilbur’s plan to blow up Manburg, he desperately tried to change the course of fate. But it seemed fate had its own plans. In a blur, the festival came and went, and when Schlatt died and Tubbo was named president, his chest burned. </p><p> </p><p>The betrayal of Techno clawed at his throat, yet he wasn't surprised. Betrayal was not a new feeling to Tommy. Hot blood pooled in his lungs, and blackness flooded his vision. For a split second, it felt as if he was being withered, but there was no cause for the pain he felt.</p><p> </p><p>Then, Wilbur came out as a traitor, and despite everything Tommy had done, L’manburg erupted into flames. It was chaos, and Tommy’s head swam. He couldn’t breathe, but he took off running when he heard the clang of withers being spawned. </p><p> </p><p>He would not let L’manburg fall, not like this. </p>
<hr/><p>His chest hurt constantly now. He couldn’t use his voice half the time, vocal cords shredded from hacking up bloody wither roses. He struggled to get up out of bed, yet he persisted every morning. L’manburg was not going to rebuild itself, and he had a duty to this nation. </p><p> </p><p>The others must know how he looked, weak and skinny. Pale as a ghost. Yet not one person asked after his health, and he couldn’t help the bitterness that tasted like ash and rose petals rising in his throat. </p><p> </p><p>When he heard the news of George’s coronation, an overwhelming wave of anger flooded him. George, a man who stood for nothing, fought only for himself, was being rewarded for his complacency. At least Eret had done something to deserve the role. Tommy thought back to his days of training outside the caravan, to the months he spent fighting a war he was sure would fail. To being exiled. To the trail of flower petals he left in his wake, and for what? For a nation crumbling at his feet?</p><p> </p><p>His vision filled with red.</p><p> </p><p>And when he came down from his high, Rambo was at his side, warm hand on his shoulder as Tommy felt chunks of tissue being ripped from his lungs. He didn’t ask, though, and Tommy’s chest burned even hotter.</p>
<hr/><p>He went to court for his crimes. He had no memory of burning down George’s house, but Tommy knew it was undoubtedly him. Still, he tried to defend himself and take the blame off Rambo. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s cutting words left him short of breath; he felt the cruel grip of the blackness race up his spine. Wither damage ticked him down, slowly, heart by heart. It felt as if the flowers had taken roots behind his eyes and grown up into his brain. He couldn’t think. Tubbo suggested removing him from power, and Dream called for his exile. </p><p> </p><p>Exile. Tommy didn’t think he would make it through another exile. Sitting in this courtroom, weak and practically dying, he could felt the eyes of his nation bore down upon him. He stumbled up to the stand at his name being called.</p><p> </p><p>“Given the evidence, how does the accused plead?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy went to speak but couldn’t. His voice was shot. Dream complained loudly at his pause, intently staring at Tommy. Was the room spinning or was it just him? Tommy cleared his throat and immediately regretted it, crying out in pain. A dry heave wracked up through his body, and he broke out into a cold sweat.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop faking it-”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that blood?!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy lifted a hand to his lip and drew away black blood. He coughed and couldn’t stop. A warm hand came to shake his shoulder. Someone was talking, but Tommy couldn’t hear it. All he could think of was how he couldn’t breathe. Someone grabbed his chin and lifted his face up. Two fingers hooked down the back of his throat to grab the flower caught in it.</p><p> </p><p>People were screaming now, but Tommy couldn't see who. The person yanked on the rose, and Tommy felt something snap. He swallowed hard on the blood in his throat, but it just made him cry more.</p><p> </p><p>Someone threw a splash potion on him, and it was just enough to bring his vision back. At some point, he had fallen to the floor, and Dream’s horrible mask stood above him holding a single wither rose, stem and all. </p><p> </p><p>Philza kneeled behind him, his body heat overwhelming Tommy. He tried to sit up but found that he couldn’t. </p><p> </p><p>“Who is it Tommy? Why didn't you tell anyone sooner-”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on? Why is he throwing up flowers, Philza, that's not normal-”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy coughed hard, and a glob of blood splat out onto the floors. </p><p> </p><p>“Does anyone have another potion? He’s still bleeding-”</p><p> </p><p>Philza shook his shoulders. “WHO IS IT TOMMY?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy felt a cold brush against his shoulder. He jerked up and saw Wilbur’s ghostly face softly smiling at him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry I placed the burden of a whole nation on your shoulders, Tommy. If only I had known-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy felt his hearts ticking down. This would be his third and final death- </p><p>It was once said that L’manburg was not a single place, rather, it was the people that called it home. He had been there at the moment of its creation, given it a name. He had loved it undeniably. Fought for it. Died for it. </p><p> </p><p>L’manburg is its people, and its people hadn’t appreciated the amount he suffered for their existence. </p><p> </p><p>And how would one even go about professing their love to an idea anyway?</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t let this nation down, Tubbo. For me-”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ITS JUST FANART *Tw: gore*</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I made some fanart for this work because I'm trash. On my tiktok @idkbruhimtrying are some WIP's if you're interested. My twitter is @melvsworld - I'm not really active on twitter tho so heads up if you follow that I probably won't post much. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The flowers he throws up are Marigolds, meaning jealousy, guilt, and despair; Nasturtiums, meaning patriotism; and in the scene when Tommy and Tubo are executed, he throws up Tansy, meaning hostile thoughts or declaring war. Funnily enough, all the flowers are small and yellow, so I know they're hard to distinguish.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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